


Vengeance Falls

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Gentiste, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Genji/OC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Warfare, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Gabe snuffs the cigarette and leaps for the gun, aiming at the door. When Jesse opens it, Ben steps through, holding a very bloodied, verydeadperson in his arms.“What the fuck isthis?" Gabe growls, lowering the gun. "Have you lost your goddamn mind—”“Where’s Ziegler?” Ben asks, gently resting the person onto the couch.“I’ll get her,” Jesse says, racing off.Gabe tucks the gun into his pants at the base of his spine and stands over the person, resting his hands on his hips. “Who the fuck did you drag in here like a cat bringing in a mouse?”“Genji.”“Genji,” Gabe breathes, looking at the kid. That isn’t just an ordinary person, no, Ben dropped a fucking deadShimadaon his couch, and it'll only be a matter of time before the rest of them come looking for him. His heart hammers in his chest. They need to leave. Now.---a.k.a The story of how Genji ended up as Blackwatch property, how he healed physically and mentally from the damage done by the hands of his brother, and gained an ally and friend from the most unlikely of sources.
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Genji Shimada
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28





	1. Acquired Asset

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!!
> 
> Here we are! Fic 100! For those who have followed me on this journey, I am eternally grateful to you. I know I strayed off mainstream and into rarepair territory, but I do want to thank you, from the very bottom of my heart. I wouldn't be here if not for you guys, my friends whom I have met along the way.
> 
> I wanted 100 to be something big, something special than another one-shot. This idea has been brewing for almost a year now, and I am so incredibly happy that this fic is 100. There are a few things you should know though. While it is tagged as Gentiste, this is a slow burn. Baptiste won't immediately appear. This is very much a Genji character study, with Blackwatch tied in as a whole, meaning there will be two chapters that aren't from Genji's perspective. I've tagged it as explicit, but it mostly pertains to violence, language, and dark themes rather than explicit sexual content, in the short term at least. Additional tags will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> This fic is wholly inspired by my Blackwatch Genji album - [Vengeance Falls by Trivium](https://open.spotify.com/album/5qI1swLFBDtgo9Q7lS2GcT?si=ruh80Wg6SV-uGFJZXJ0KaQ). You can listen to the album now if you want, but I will also be linking the songs at the end of the chapters. No pressure to actually listen to the songs.
> 
> Thank you again, and much love 💖  
> Enjoy.

"I love this."

"What?!" 

Gabe smirks, side-eyeing Jesse. "Japan. The people, the culture, the food."

"Yeah,” Jesse says, a single eyebrow raised in suspicion, “that's pretty good."

Gabe breathes in deep, the humid air fills his lungs. It reminds him of summers spent as a kid at his abuela's, running around in the drenching, oppressing humidity. It would be easier to deal with if they were in the middle of the rainy season but, in fact, Japan is in the height of the Sakura blooming period, and they've been hit with record-breaking heat _and_ had their first monsoonal rain of the year; two months early. Not that the trees will be filled with very many flowers anymore, not after the downpour they got hit with overnight. 

Having the balcony door open is probably not the best of ideas, but the air in the room had stagnated. While it has raised the humidity to unbearable levels, it's better than what it _was_ —the stink of _four_ people sweating like they’re in a sauna. 

Sighing wistfully, Gabe gives Jesse a little wiggle of his eyebrows. "The weather." 

Jesse _tsks_ , sitting back in his seat. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, both of which are so soaked with sweat it looks like he just came back from a swim in the hotel’s pool. "See, I _knew_ that's what you were talkin' about. Every damn time we're somewhere humid you get all doe-eyed." 

"Just be glad it's not July."

"I don't care," Jesse says with a groan so achingly tired, Gabe _feels_ it in his bones. "This humidity can eat my entire ass."

Gabe snorts, his smile grows wider when he hears the hushed, angry German from the other side of the room. He glances over his shoulder at Dr. Ziegler, and if looks could kill, Jesse would be dead before he hit the floor. 

It's completely understandable—the poor woman has been confined to the hotel doing paperwork at the dining table, on standby in case something happens to their plant inside Shimada Castle. She initially joined them to attend a medical conference in Kyoto at the start of the mission, but since then, she’s been stuck inside for two weeks and counting, staring at the four sunflower yellow walls of the living space, all the while putting up with alpha team’s efforts to keep some level of respect with her in the room. 

Well. That only lasted a week when Jesse eloquently announced that he had ‘dropped the biggest shit of his life’ without realising she had gotten up for breakfast. Understandably she was mortified, and no amount of apology could _take_ that back.

It’s been a slippery slope since then, a crude joke here or there that she's tolerated to a certain degree. Granted, Jesse hasn’t been at his most vulgar.

Until now, that is.

Gabe elbows Jesse, and Jesse levels him with a scowl. The kid is the best asset Gabe's had on his team in a long time, but shit, sometimes he's oblivious. Gabe gives Ziegler a flick of his head, Jesse's eyes flit to her, and he grimaces. 

"Sorry, Angie," he says meekly. "Ain't used to keeping my language in check."

"Please, don't let me stop you," Angela retorts, sarcasm dripping off every word. "It's not like I could be out there saving lives or anything. But, you know what? I just _love_ being stuck in this _hellhole_ of a room, with no air conditioning, suffering from this brutal heat _and_ humidity, and it can—" she huffs, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "It can eat my entire ass."

Gabe’s eyes flit to Jesse, and they devolve into laughter. He glances at Ziegler and she rolls her eyes, but he does notice the upwards quirk of her lips that she is desperately trying so hard to contain. It just makes him laugh harder—she almost looks constipated. 

“You’ve corrupted the good doctor,” Gabe says with a sigh. “What’ll Jack think now?”

“Jack will just add it to the list of shit he blames you for,” Jesse replies, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t care if this mission is bust, _that_ just made _this_ all worthwhile.”

“Happy to be of service,” Ziegler replies, standing and bowing. “Now, I’m going to have an ice-cold shower to cool off. _Please_ don’t interrupt unless one of you is dying.”

“Fair enough.”

“Enjoy, doc,” Jesse says. He looks down at himself. “I might just follow you once you’re done. I’m sweating like a pig.”

Ziegler beelines to the fridge, pulling out two bottles of electrolyte drink and walks them over. “I want these empty by the time I am done."

“Thanks.” Jesse takes the bottle, cracks the lid and just about chugs all of it. 

“Take your time,” Gabe says. “Asa’s not set to check in for another hour anyway.”

With a nod, Ziegler turns her back on them. Gabe adjusts in his chair, peeling his sweat-stuck legs away from the wooden seat and looks out the door of the balcony. They’ve got a decent-ish view of Shimada Castle, as best as they can manage at the very least without arousing suspicion given how deep into Shimada territory they are. They can’t see much, about a quarter of the compound itself, but proximity to it was key. 

He's got a good soldier on the inside—Ben Asa. They waited _months_ for a job opening, and it came in the way of a new gardener. Ben was vetted six ways from Sunday, but he ended up getting the job. It worked better than they could have planned given the castle’s numerous indoor gardens; he has full access to the compound and has gotten friendly not only with the other hired help, but he has befriended the youngest Shimada.

Ben’s bringing back some juicy intel regarding the inner workings of the clan and their plans moving forward after Shimada senior’s demise. Turns out their plans to expand their territory not only in Japan but establish a US base of operations is still on the cards, but most curiously, there is heavy infighting between senior clan members, as well as friction between the brothers. So far though, Shimada junior hasn’t revealed anything groundbreaking despite the hints he’s dropped about his extreme dissatisfaction with being affiliated with the clan.

Ben is confident, though, that with a little more time, Genji will open up. Things aren't exactly peachy there at the moment and every day, the brat reveals a little more.

“There,” Jesse says with a groan, capping the now empty bottle, “all done.” He places it on the floor beside him, and when he sits up, lets out an ear-splitting burp. 

“Good thing Zieger wasn’t here for that,” Gabe mutters, taking a good couple of gulps of his drink. 

“Provided the check-in is positive, we should go out for dinner.” Jesse crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Gabe. “Angie deserves it.”

“Does she ever.” Gabe stretches his neck from side to side, tilting his head enough to the left to crack it. He sighs in relief; that crick has been bugging him all day. “It’s been an uneventful week mission wise, and she’s had to put up with _your_ bullshit for all of it.”

“Don’t quite know what you mean,” Jesse says, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Gabe knows that mischievous tone and the accompanying shit-eating grin to mean trouble. “I’ve been the perfect gentleman.” He then leans to the side, let's rip a fart, and the moment that wall of putrid air hits Gabe’s nostrils he pushes Jesse away and retreats to the balcony. 

“Far from it,” Gabe says, scowling at Jesse when he joins him outside.

“She ain’t in the room, is she?”

“No, but _I_ am.”

“Don’t pretend you’re any better. I learned from the best, after all.”

“ _Don’t_ pretend you’re not the same shithead I picked up three years ago,” Gabe replies. He opts to leave the door open to let Jesse's stink out, leaning against the cool wall and pulling out his packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Gabe offers Jesse one and he turns it down.

With a shrug, Gabe places a cigarette between his lips, plucking out the lighter beside the last two in the packet and ignites the end. The smoke fills his mouth and he relaxes, exhaling, returning the lighter to his pack and placing it back in his pocket. 

There is a gentle breeze, on the cooler side which cuts through the humidity. Despite reminding him of home, this relief is more than welcome. “Should open up the apartment fully, air it out from the humidity and your foul odour.”

“It’ll be welcome,” Jesse says. “What’re you thinking for dinner?”

Gabe hums, taking another drag. They’ve stuck with the sushi place downstairs over the last couple of days thanks to the storm, but now that it's passed, all he’s been craving is a good, hot noodle dish. “Ramen.”

“Yeah, I could smash a bowl of ramen.”

“Then it’s settled.” Gabe ashes into the ashtray sitting on the ledge of the balcony. "Message Fio, she'll want in—"

There is a quick knock at the door to the room. Gabe’s heart pounds in his chest—housekeeping haven’t been bothering them thanks to the do not disturb sign they’ve left on the door handle, and right now, they're not expecting anyone to show. He narrows his eyes at Jesse. 

“Probably housekeeping asking if we need fresh towels again,” Jesse says with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll check.”

Gabe nods, taking a deep drag of his cigarette as Jesse enters the room. Keeping his hand and cigarette outside, he steps back in to keep an eye on Jesse.

There's another knock, louder, more desperate. Gabe glances at the handgun sitting on the coffee table. He can get to it in under a second if he needs to.

Hand on the handle, Jesse looks through the peephole. “Fuck,” he says, fumbling with the lock. 

Gabe snuffs the cigarette against the balcony wall and leaps for the gun, aiming at the door. When Jesse opens it, Ben steps through, holding a very bloodied, very _dead_ person in his arms.

“What the fuck is _this_?" Gabe growls, lowering the gun as Jesse quickly closes the door and locks it. He hovers there a moment, no doubt making sure Ben wasn’t followed. "Have you lost your goddamn mind—”

“Where’s Ziegler?” Ben asks, gently resting the person onto the couch. 

Gabe glances at Jesse, flicking his head towards the back of the apartment. 

“I’ll get her,” Jesse says, racing off. 

Gabe tucks the gun into his pants at the base of his spine and stands over the dead person, resting his hands on his hips. “Who the fuck did you drag in here like a cat bringing in a mouse?”

“Genji.”

“Genji,” Gabe breathes, looking at the kid. This isn’t just an ordinary person, no, Ben dropped a fucking dead _Shimada_ on his couch, and it'll only be a matter of time before the rest of them come looking for him. His heart hammers in his chest; they need to leave. Now. “You’ve compromised the mission, I hope you know that.”

“I couldn’t leave him,” Ben says, looking up at him. His eyes are watery, blood and tears and stain his cheeks. “He’s not dead.”

“He’s not…” Gabe moves in closer to get a good look at the kid. His face is slashed, so bad Gabe can’t even recognise him. He has a jacket draped over him and Gabe pulls it back, Genji’s right arm is _missing_ from just below the shoulder. 

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jesse mutters, standing beside Gabe.

Gabe hums, looking at the rest of Genji’s injuries—he’s got deep lacerations to his torso, his legs have been slashed down to the _bone_. There is no way this kid _should_ be alive, but as he focuses on his chest again, he sees it rise, ever so slightly as it's accompanied by a wet, sickly drawn in breath. “How the _fuck_ is he still alive?!”

“I gave him biotics.”

“That won’t get him very far—” Gabe pauses, his eyes narrow when he sees a green _glimmer_ radiate off the kid. He blinks and it's gone, he glances at McCree who looks just as confused as Gabe feels. 

Ben leans forward, whispering something in Japanese to Genji. Gabe's Japanese is at tourist levels at best, but whatever Ben is saying, Gabe can't hear nor understand it.

“Move,” Ziegler says, elbowing past Gabe, and he steps out of her way. She kneels on the carpet, her hands hover above Genji’s torso as she eyes him up and down. “He needs a hospital, I can’t treat him here.”

“You have to do something,” Ben says, barely a whisper. 

Gabe looks at him. He’s covered in blood, from head to toe, his clothes are soaked in it. His eyes are vacant though, and Gabe's been in this job long enough to know the signs of shock. “You did good, son,” he says softly, placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “We have to get him out of the country. If they get an inkling that he’s alive—”

“They think he’s dead,” Ben says. “They told me to _dispose_ of him and return at once.”

“You specifically?" Gabe asks. "Or your garden crew?”

“We were packing up for the afternoon, they called me by name to—to...” Ben looks down at Genji and rests his hand on the top of his head.

Gabe’s stomach drops. There is every possibility that Ben’s cover was blown, and that _this_ is a message. It’s most likely the reason why Genji is within an inch of his life, for feeding information to the enemy. There is absolutely _no_ way he’ll be sending Ben back in there, not when he’s a loose end. 

Right now, Ben’s career is likely over. He’ll probably need to go deep underground for a while, if not the rest of his life. If he doesn’t return, the clan won’t stop looking for him. Hopefully, they’ll eventually get bored and he can have the chance of a normal life.

But that’s a problem for later. Right now, the only thing that matters is they get the hell out of here before they're swarmed by Shimada grunts.

“Dead or not,” Gabe says, “it doesn’t matter. Shimada junior’s popular enough that despite _this,"_ he gesticulates to Genji, "someone will recognise him. _If_ he survives and _that_ information gets back to the clan, they’ll stop at nothing to finish the job.”

“Reyes,” Zeigler pleads, “he _needs_ a hospital _now_.”

“And we’ll get him one. In Switzerland.”

Ziegler looks down at Genji. “I… I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

“Doc,” Jesse says. “Surely you can use your healing staff or something.”

“Yes, but it won’t be enough.”

“Do what you can,” Gabe says. “I’ll call Fio for an emergency evac and bring round the van. Jesse, clean up here. Everything must be gone, no trace of us _or_ him,” he gives Genji the flick of his head, “being here must be left.”

“Got it,” Jesse replies. He sprints off to the bedroom. 

“Ben, what happened?” Ziegler asks, activating her staff. Golden light radiates off it, localising on Genji’s chest. “Who did this?”

There is a moment of silence, and Gabe turns his attention to Ben. His eyes are wide, unfocused, welling with tears. Gabe knows that face, he’s seen it countless times during the war.

While this isn’t the first time Ben’s seen death, this is his first solo mission. He knew Ben was cosying up to Genji, but now, he wonders if there was something _more_ between them. Either way, this will be a trauma that lives with him for the rest of his life. 

Gabe squeezes Ben’s shoulder gently. “Son, who did this?”

Ben blinks rapidly, tears spill down his cheeks as he looks at Gabe. “Hanzo.”

The gravity of that revelation slams into Gabe like a truck. There was friction between the brothers after Shimada Senior's death, yes, but _murder_? It’s unfathomable, unbelievable, and he would be questioning it if Ben hadn’t dropped the name. 

Genji wanted nothing to do with the clan, but that’s not grounds for fratricide. At this stage, the only thing that makes sense is that they knew Ben was undercover and that Genji was feeding him information. This had to be done out of necessity to protect the clan rather than a spat turned deadly.

“Ben, have a shower,” Gabe says. “Give your clothes to Jesse. He’ll deal with them. We’ll debrief on the shuttle. Got it?”

Ben nods, slowly making his way to the bathroom. 

Sighing, Gabe looks at Genji on the couch. Well, what’s left of him. _How_ he is still alive after this is a miracle. “Don’t lose him. I want to know _everything_ that happened in that compound, from that drunken argument on the street last week to now. I don’t think Hanzo did this. It had to be someone else.”

“I will do my best,” Angela says absently, looking at Genji’s readings on her tablet. 

With one final nod, Gabe leaves the room. He plucks his phone from his pocket, typing a message to Fio: _Sorry to cut your shopping trip short but we need an immediate evac. Medical emergency._

* * *

“Well. This is as big a shitshow as it gets.”

Gabe rests on his elbows, closing his eyes rubbing his temples. Now that they’re safely on the shuttle, the stress has left a migraine in its place. “You’re telling me.” 

“Do they know you were there?”

“Don’t think so,” Gabe replies, looking at the image of Jack on the holoscreen. “If they suspected, they would’ve followed Asa and killed us all while we were cleaning up. Asa said that they think Shimada junior is dead.”

“It could still be a ploy. Of _all_ the people on the grounds to deal with the body, they _chose_ Asa. The _only_ member of our team on their payroll. It’s suspicious.”

“It’s suspicious as fuck,” Gabe mutters. He takes a deep breath and his fingers twitch; he would kill for a cigarette right now, but Ziegler would have his ass if he smoked in proximity to her patient. “We just wait this out, I suppose. Activate Asa’s retirement plan and have him live the rest of his life as far away from Blackwatch as possible.” 

Jack inhales and exhales deeply. He wasn’t on board with this plan, he tried to talk Gabe out of it several times but Gabe insisted, writing reports and risk assessments to get Jack to agree. Gabe can't help but huff a sardonic laugh. Fratricide wasn't on that list.

Despite the reprimand that Gabe deserves for this fuck up, Jack doesn't press on. He gives a small, subtle nod. “How is Shimada?”

“Ziegler has done what she can without a hospital at her disposal. She’s stemmed the bleeding, she’s got him on oxygen. He’s critical, could go at any moment, but he only needs a couple more hours before he’s in the best care he’s likely ever had.”

Jack hums, picking up his pen and clicking it. “And what happens after? If he survives, do we send him on his way? Watch on as he goes home, either likely ending up dead for real _or_ as he slaughters the entire clan?”

Gabe huffs a sardonic laugh. “Then the problem solves itself, doesn’t it?”

“Gabe—”

“Jack.” Gabe stares at Jack's image. His eyes are droopy, his hair is a mess. He’s stressed, possibly the most stressed Gabe has seen him since the Crisis. It's not unsurprising; this is the closest Blackwatch has gotten to being discovered by someone who could do real damage to them. If word got out that Overwatch, the shining beacon of this world had a black ops division, doing the dirty work they refuse to touch with their pristine hands, it would cause chaos.

Ultimately, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and if Gabe could have a do-over, he’d leave this mission off the table. Ben’s career is over, his life changed for the worse. On top of that, if they hadn't intervened, Genji might not be on death's door. This kid's life hangs in the balance, and he's likely responsible for that. _Both_ of their lives have been upended in the worst ways, and no one deserves to go through that. 

But the damage is done, and they have to pick up the pieces and salvage what they can. 

“What if we kept him?” Gabe asks. “You’ve seen the surveillance footage. He’s skilled. Deadly. Imagine that power in our hands.”

Jack scoffs. “You want to take in an _ex yakuza_?”

“Think of the potential. He was trained for assassination.” Gabe folds his arms across his chest and stares Jack down, _tsking_ when Jack raises an eyebrow. “He’s a fucking _ninja_ , Jack. They _invented_ assassination.”

“They didn’t,” Jack intones.

“If he makes a full recovery, he could be a useful asset.”

“ _Ex. Yakuza._ ”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “I remember having this same conversation when I took McCree in. ‘Ex bikie, would stab you in the back the second it was turned and return to that life of crime.’ Well, look at how well he’s worked out!”

“Can you handle him?”

“He cannot be worse than McCree.”

“Yes. Or. No?”

“Yes,” Gabe hisses. “I’ll just feed him the ‘we saved you, we’ll help you tear down your old clan in exchange for your services’ spiel. Keep him on that leash.”

“ _If_ he survives.”

“He’ll likely be bedridden for the next six months at the very least,” Gabe murmurs. “And once he’s out of the woods, he’s got a long, hard road full of prosthetics and cybernetics. Plenty of time to get to know him, figure out what happened, offer him the opportunity of a lifetime. His _second_ lifetime.”

“You keep him on a tight leash and I’ll allow it.”

Gabe cannot help but grin. That was easier than he was anticipating. “He won’t set a single toe out of line, I can guarantee it.”

“See that he doesn’t,” Jack grumbles. “Keep me apprised of his situation.”

“Will do.”

“Morrison out.”

The screen goes blank, quickly replaced by the Blackwatch logo. Gabe closes the feed and leans back in his seat, picking up his tablet and reading Genji’s file. All the kid wanted was to live a normal life, to be himself and do his own thing absent his criminal family, and it got him killed. There is sadness in that, a rigidity that Gabe is truly unable to understand. He wanted nothing to do with his family’s restaurant, passed down over three generations, and he is incredibly fortunate that his parents gave him the opportunity to forge his own path in life.

Genji might be an acquired asset, doing Blackwatch’s bidding when he’s recovered, but at the very least the kid will have a life that doesn’t involve family breathing down his neck with every step he takes.


	2. Brave This Storm

“Strike me!”

“I _won’t._ This isn’t who we are!”

“It _is_. And the sooner _you_ realise it, the sooner we can get on with our lives.”

Genji bares his teeth, gripping his katana tightly. His arm stings from where Hanzo's blade sliced him open, blood drips down his arm and onto the mat beneath his feet. He can feel his dragons within him, writhing under his skin, begging for release. Their bloodlust pumps through his veins, yet he orders them to calm down; he won’t do any harm to his brother. 

“You _know_ I want no part of this life," Genji says. "I’ve told you countless times. Father accepted it, why won’t you?”

“It is your duty!”

“Fuck duty! You can have it. This is what _you_ have wanted, what _you_ have been working towards your entire life, and _you_ finally have it.” Genji pulls his katana down slowly, non-threatening. “You don't _need_ me by your side, you said it yourself countless times before Father died. Please, Hanzo. Let me go.”

“I cannot. You are a Shimada—”

“Yes. I am. I also have free will. And I choose to walk away.”

Hanzo raises his katana. “You cannot. Strike me!”

“Hanzo—”

“Strike me! Fight me!”

Genji narrows his eyes. Behind Hanzo's rage, he can see the barest hints of anguish and fear in his eyes. Genji knew this sparring session was bullshit the moment Hanzo asked; they haven't sparred together in years. Yet, Hanzo picked _this_ moment—a hot fucking afternoon in the height of summer—to fight, and knew which buttons to press to get him all riled up. Is this provocation, this goading all an effort to give Hanzo a _reason_ to attack him? 

_If_ it is, Genji wants no part in it. His brother might be standing in front of him now, but these are the words and actions of the elders, the faceless people who truly run this clan behind the scenes. He’s seen them whispering in Hanzo’s ear, keeping him in meetings past midnight, waking him at 5 a.m. with 'important clan business' when in reality they're just poisoning his mind. They were sharks, circling around Hanzo while Father laid on his deathbed and struck the moment he drew in his last breath.

Before Father's death, the elders kept their disappointment and snickering hidden behind fake smiles and passive-aggressive words, but now, their contempt is as obvious as the midday sun. _They_ don't want him here as much as he doesn't want to be here and yet, they are trying to shackle him, lock him in a cage out of some twisted sense of honour and duty because he is a Shimada.

Genji isn’t like them. He will _never_ be like them.

“This isn’t you, Hanzo,” Genji murmurs. "You have the same power Father had. You can tell them to back off, to leave me be—" Genji clears his throat, trying to keep his bubbling rage and sadness to a simmer. "Why won't you?"

“This is my duty,” Hanzo whispers. He closes his eyes, his shoulders slump. Further proof that Hanzo _doesn’t_ want to do this. The moment is over in an instant—Hanzo's eyes shoot open and with it, his uncertainty is gone, instead replaced with fiery hatred. He lunges forward, swinging his katana down and Genji blocks it with his, the crashing blades echo through the dojo. The impact is so fierce, Hanzo's katana splinters. The shock of it snaps him out of his rage, and he pulls away, taking several steps back. His chest heaves, he looks at his katana through watery eyes like it betrayed him. 

Taking a breath, Genji lowers his katana once more. “I'm done. I’m leaving, Hanzo, whether you like it or not.”

Genji turns his back on Hanzo and looks at the tapestry in front of him. Before he can read the kanji, he feels intense, fiery pain in his right shoulder. The tapestry is cut at the bottom and splattered with blood, his gaze shifts to his chest, at the katana blade which has sliced through his flesh.

With a sickening, wet sound, the blade is pulled away. Genji's katana slips from his grip, he presses a shaky hand to the wound. Blood pours between his fingers, and before he can fully process what has happened, he feels another slash, this time across his back. The sheer force of the strike makes him fall to the ground, screaming in pain, in terror.

It won't end this way. Taking a breath, Genji picks up his katana and stands on shaky knees. Turning to face Hanzo, Hanzo stares back; no remorse, no guilt on his face. Right now, the person standing in front of him isn't his brother.

Genji tries in vain to block Hanzo's next attack, but it's impossible one-handed; Hanzo’s blade slashes across his face. Crying out, his katana drops to the ground. He holds out his right hand, a desperate plea to stop this vicious attack but it’s just a mistake, as Hanzo cuts it off at the wrist.

"H-Hanzo...” he cries, cradling his arm, to his chest but his plea falls on deaf ears as Hanzo twists around him, slashing across his calves. Genji falls to his knees, his vision blurs, he coughs, spitting up blood onto the mat below.

His eyes grow heavy, he feels like he's being pulled apart at the seams. Every ounce of energy he spends trying to fight fatigues him further. Staying upright becomes too much, and with a wet breath, he collapses to the ground. He feels his dragons' energy fading, slipping into the darkness like he is.

“Hanzo,” Genji chokes, barely a whisper as Hanzo approaches. 

Hanzo stands above him, holding up his katana. Genji's blood stains his face, his hands, his clothes, yet his eyes still burn with resentment. He takes hold of Genji's right arm holding it up; Genji is powerless to fight him.

“Pathetic,” Hanzo spits, eyes glowing blue. 

Genji screams but it's in vain, drowned out by the growing roar of Hanzo’s dragons, lifting off the tattoo on his arm as he strikes down— 

Genji jolts upright, taking gulping, heaving breaths. He tries to look around but everything is dark, he is unsure if it's day or night; he was blinded in the attck. As the static fades from his ears, he takes in the beeping from the monitors hooked up to him, the smell of hospital grade disinfectant. He presses his hand to his chest, where smooth skin turns rough and bumpy from the countless skin grafts he’s had since that day.

He is damaged, but still intact. 

Focusing on the beeping from the monitors hooked up to him, at Akira's gentle vibration deep within him, he tells himself that he is safe. Moments pass, he is unsure of how many, but with each constant blip, the erupting pain in his chest, where his hand would've been, subsides back into that everlasting, barely tolerable range.

“Fuck,” he mouths, settling back down onto the bed. 

The nightmare always plays out the same. 

His first two weeks in this hospital were spent in a coma, a slumber so deep he didn’t dream. He spent the following two weeks on enough painkillers he drifted between a consciousness he can’t remember, and a blessedly empty unconsciousness.

Over the last few days, though, his doctor has scaled some of the painkillers back. Now that he is falling asleep by his own free will, the nightmares have started and every time, over and over, those final moments replay in his mind. 

Hanzo’s face, the anger and resentment in his eyes, will forever be etched in his memory. When it's dead silent, between those constant blips from the monitors, he can still hear his echoed _pathetic_ ring in his ears. 

In that moment, Hanzo wasn’t his brother: he was the ruthless killer the clan had groomed him to be.

In that moment, Hanzo saw him—he saw his own flesh and blood—as the enemy. 

Months of resisting Hanzo and the elders led to that fateful day. _If_ Genji had listened, if he agreed to stay by Hanzo’s side, he would be home right now, texting and eating and fucking. He wouldn’t be in an Overwatch hospital on the other side of the world, being fed through a tube connected to his stomach and unable to see the doctors who are treating him.

He wouldn’t be alone.

He would have his brother.

He would have Izumi. Her loss is immeasurable, unfathomable. A bottomless pit of darkness and despair is left in her place, something that he truly believes will never be filled. Just like his right arm and legs, that part of him is missing, too.

Not once did he believe that Hanzo would do this. If he did, he would have fought harder, he would have defeated Hanzo and he would have lived.

But if he could do it all over again, he would suck it up and give the clan what they wanted; a dutiful little boy. He couldn’t be more broken living that life than he is right now.

* * *

Everything burns. 

The doctor talks to him about his injuries and progress through recovery. His life-saving operations are behind him, the countless skin grafts, the transplants—his right lung, his stomach, his liver which were regrown from his stem cells and hybridized onto artificial implants so he could be free of being hooked up to bulky equipment. Now, they are discussing replacing his missing limbs with cybernetics.

All he wants to do is scream, to rip these cannulas out of his body, to tear the monitoring equipment off what little skin remains. But he is frozen.

The doctor’s words settle on him like dust after a storm; there, but not penetrating. He can’t see what these people look like; the doctor, the nurses, _anyone_ or _anything,_ and unless he wants to be able to see again, he will need implants. Otherwise, he will be declared legally blind.

He wants to punch a wall. A person. _Something_ to channel the hatred, the pain burning deep in his chest. If he agrees to these surgeries, he will be more machine than a person. They’ll have taken away the things that make him _Genji_ and replace them with parts. Artificial. Sterile.

While his legs from the knee down were amputated in this hospital after the attack, his right arm wasn’t. They told him his right arm was _gone,_ that it was removed from his body before they got their hands on him. 

It makes sense that Hanzo took it. The elders would have wanted proof that obedient Hanzo carried out their orders like a good boy. They take little fingers for betrayal and arms for death. He feels the loss of his right arm more than his legs; it had Izumi’s tattoo, and its removal doesn’t only signify his ostracization from the clan, from the family.

It’s removal also meant the death of Izumi.

The slash across his back was meant to weaken Akira, to give the both of them a slow and painful death, so Genji could feel her light go out. But he lives, and so does Akira, and aside from her, he is alone in this world. He has no family. He has no friends. He is barely a human. 

At this stage, Genji wishes, _prays_ that the doctor would offer death as a freeing alternative. He _should_ have died on that floor, instead of suffering in this hell. It’s the same thing, day in and day out; between bouts of consciousness is a pain so intense the painkillers they give him do nothing to alleviate it. They try to talk to him, to converse about benign things like the weather or what life in Japan is like, but he hates talking back. He hasn’t eaten anything solid, nor had any liquids since that final day, he has a catheter and a bag to collect his shit, and he hasn’t left the bed in days? Weeks? He’s lost track of time.

This is no way to live. This is a punishment _worse_ than death. 

If Hanzo were able to see him now, he would probably laugh.

“Do you understand everything I have said?”

Genji balls his hand into a fist, moving his head in the direction the voice is coming from. She is his doctor, she introduces herself whenever she enters the room. He was told that she saved his life.

Her name is Angela. She sounds nice.

 _“_ _Yes_. _”_

On the long list of things stolen from him is his voice. Right now, the only way he can speak is through a computer that is hooked up to his nervous system. He hates it because the voice is robotic and lacks all emotion. Granted, it's a slight bit of independence, but a constant reminder him that he needs machines to live.

“Can you repeat it?”

“ _I have lost my right arm and both legs above the knee. I have been implanted with new lungs, stomach, and liver. My skin has been grafted, jaw removed and rebuilt. I am blind.”_

“Prosthetics—cybernetics will vastly improve your quality of life. They will become a part of you. You will be able to control them as if they were your real limbs.”

He will be more machine than flesh and blood.

“ _And if I refuse?_ ”

“Then it’s a wheelchair for the rest of your life.”

Genji tilts his head at the man’s voice. He introduced himself as Reyes and hasn’t said a word since. Not until now. Despite the deadpan statement, Akira is showing no hostility towards him. 

“I understand the pain and frustration, son," Reyes continues, "but you survived for a reason. Let us help you.”

Reyes speaks softer and gentler now, but there is something in his tone that is so resoundingly familiar that sets him on edge. _Let us help you_. Words he heard so often, throughout his life. Overwatch isn't doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, rebuilding him from scratch to send him on his way. They want something from him. 

“ _And in return?_ ”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who will want to sit in a decrepit house watching the world go by. At this stage, your former clan think you’re dead, so you technically _don’t_ have a place to go back to. _If_ you’re willing, and _if_ it is something you’re interested in, you’re more than welcome to join my team.”

So many _if's._ As _if_ he has a choice in this matter. A dead-end life or joining Reyes' team, those are his only two options, and he can't have vengeance absent everything that was taken from him.

“ _My only goal is to kill those who have wronged me. My brother, my clan. I want to tear that castle apart, burn it to the ground with everyone inside for what they have done to me._ ”

Silence falls on him, all he can hear is his quick, shallow breaths. He would kill to be able to see the faces of the people in this room. He feels Akira vibrating, he focuses on her as he calms down. Reyes might have ulterior motives, but Akira at the very least doesn’t have her hackles raised. It's not complete trust, but given how his compass for trustworthiness is shattered, Akira's judgement is all he can go on.

“We can help you achieve that,” Reyes says eventually. “It’s not something we can do tomorrow, though. We have to be clever, methodical. There has to be no trace to us. The world cannot know that it was us.”

“ _I don’t want the world to know._ I _just need to do it._ ”

“Join my team and we can work to get it done.”

There it is, that shared endgame. With zero convincing it confirms that Overwatch had eyes on the clan before the attack. The clan was suspicious, they had been for months now, and it makes sense the clan was reaching critical mass, talons poised and ready to hold the Government so tightly it would have meant _they_ would control _everything_ , right up to a federal level. 

The rumours of Overwatch having black ops agents also rings true. If they had eyes on him—and they would've because he ended up in Overwatch's hands—then taking the clan down is probably something they would do with or without him anyway. 

But Reyes needs him, and more importantly, the information he carries. A brief flicker of doubt starts to cloud his mind: could he turn his back on the family? Could he sell them out?

Could he snitch?

He feels that flicker go out as Akira moves restlessly under his skin. The clan tried to murder him. _They_ wanted him dead, and as far as they are concerned, he _is_ dead. He wouldn’t go back to that life, to that family with its abuse, even if they were the only people left on this Earth.

Right now, his only option is to help Overwatch. Reyes is right; he might hate what he is becoming, but spending the rest of his life confined to a wheelchair is its own hell when he has been offered _cybernetics;_ much more than any average person would have access to in their lifetime. 

He’d rather be a machine than immobile. 

“ _Okay._ ”

“Okay,” Angela says. “With your permission, Genji, I will consult with a world-renowned expert in cybernetics. We will get you the best care.”

Genji nods. “ _And fix my voice. I hate this one._ ”

“Consider it done.” A soft hand settles on his shoulder. “You will be fine, Genji.”

He will be fine. 

Hanzo will pay for what he did and he will be fine. 

* * *

Genji takes a nervous, shuddering breath.

Ben squeezes his hand. This is the first time Ben has been allowed to visit; he has been deep underground for the last two months, hiding from the clan. Genji had wanted to ask for him, but he wouldn't even let himself _think_ about Ben. He knew Ben saved him, so he assumed Ben had died by their hands as the clan tied up that loose end. Genji had lost so much already, he couldn't take hearing about the loss of the man he loved.

All that concern didn't matter, because Ben is here, alive and well and happy. He never did reveal he worked for Overwatch, not until today. If Genji hadn’t been betrayed by his family, if he learned that fact while under the castle's roof, he would've told Ben to fuck off forever for lying to him. Ben was the only good thing in his life before his attempted murder, and right now, _is_ the best thing in his life. Ben might have lied about who he worked for, but Ben saved not just his life, but also Akira's. His old life is gone, soaked in his blood. There is no sense in holding onto it when he has Ben here, now.

Genji is so incredibly grateful that he is here, especially today given it's an extra special day, the first of many he hopes to share with Ben as he will be given his cybernetics over the course of the next month. One week ago he had the operation to install ocular implants. His eyes have been swollen shut and wrapped in bandages since then, aside from twice-daily cleaning. Now they are healed, and this is the moment he will see the world for the first time in twelve weeks.

“Hello Genji, it’s Angela. How are you today?”

“I am well,” Genji replies. The operation to fix his vocal cords was performed just before his eyes. They tried to match the original pitch of his voice as best they could, but he sounds so metallic. He hated it at first, but he is growing used to it.

It’s not like he can do anything about it. This is the new normal.

“Are you ready to see the world?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to take off the bandage first,” Angela says. Genji feels the gentle brush of fingers against his head, then slowly, he feels the tension of the bandage lessen until it is gone. “Now, I’m going to take off the gauze. I have to do it one at a time.”

“Okay,” Genji breathes.

He feels a gentle scratching on his forehead, then the pull of tape against his skin. When Angela moves onto the second one, he opens his eye, just for a brief moment, and everything is blinding white. he has to squeeze it shut again. The second piece of gauze is pulled away, and he keeps his eyes closed.

“You may open your eyes slowly,” Angela says. “You have been unable to see anything in three months, the implants will need to adjust to the sensory input.”

“It sounds like they behave like actual eyes,” Ben says.

“It’s the same principle, yes. Your irises will open and close in response to light. Your nighttime vision will be better than it ever was, though.”

“One positive,” Genji says with a huffed laugh. He inhales and exhales deeply. “Okay…”

Slowly, minutely, he opens his eyes. Everything is white, it hurts about as much as looking into the sun but he resists to close his eyes again. After a moment, colours start to appear. He smiles when he sees the blanket on his bed is grey. He looks at his hand holding Ben’s, following his arm up to his face, taking in his dark eyes and the little mole on the side of his nose. Ben sobs and Genji tries to reach out, cup his face to wipe his tears away but he doesn’t have his other arm. Instead, he picks up Ben’s hand and kisses the back of it. 

He continues his scan of the room, settling on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed doctor looking back at him. She smiles warmly.

“Hello,” she says, “I’m Angela.”

Genji smiles back. “It is good to put a face to the name.”

“How is your vision?”

“Good.” He looks around the room, to the window to the outside world. Blue sky and green trees; he never did appreciate nature’s beauty until now. “Good.”

“Excellent,” Angela says. She plucks a pen from her coat pocket. “I just need to make sure it all looks fine from here, then you can have the room.” She turns on a light, shining it in his eyes briefly. “Irises are responding to stimuli just as they should.” Turning off the light, she stands up straight. “We’ll need to run a couple of more tests, but that can wait until later. In the meantime, Ben has been asking to see you for twelve weeks and I don’t want to keep him waiting any longer.”

“Thank you,” Genji says.

“You’re welcome, Genji. Call if you need anything.”

Genji nods, and Angela leaves the room. He turns his attention to Ben, and Ben throws his arms around his neck.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

“I missed you too.”

Ben kisses his temple and pulls away, sitting back on his seat. Genji holds his hand, tighter than before. “I’m so sorry that this happened. If I suspected I would have gotten you out of there.”

“We would have been in a worse position,” Genji says. “They would not have stopped hunting us until they knew I was dead for betraying them. At least now, they think I _am_ dead, so they are not chasing us.”

“Not chasing you,” Ben murmurs. His gaze shifts to the window, his eyes well with tears. “They looked for me. They ransacked my apartment in Hanamura and then chased me to Rome, where I was living. Thankfully they didn’t find my family, but I’ve been confined to a safe house for three months while they searched. They’ve since stopped.”

Genji shakes his head slowly. “They haven’t stopped, they’re waiting.”

“I have a new identity," Ben says with a small shrug. "I’m relocating to London.”

Genji’s mouth hangs open. The clan won’t stop looking for him, they'll hunt him until he is dead. He wants to tell Ben to stay, because if Overwatch has risked letting him into this hospital, then this place _must_ be safe. 

But if the clan find Ben here, they won’t just kill him, they’ll kill every doctor and nurse in this hospital for harbouring him. They'll burn it to the ground.

Genji wants to tell Ben all of this, but the only word to leave his mouth is, “When?”

“Three days. Boss is just finalising details, lining up work for me to make this transition as seamless as possible.”

“I… we… Ben…” The words die in his throat as Ben holds him tight. It won’t matter, they’ll find him and kill him for what he witnessed. He’s a loose end. 

But all Genji can focus on right now is that they have just three days together. He is with Ben after so, _so_ long apart, and he’s _leaving?_

Another thing Hanzo has taken from him.

Genji cries. For the first time in three months, he _cries_. Uninhibited, unabashed. Ben holds him through it and he lets it all out, all the anger and resentment and _hatred_ , because the only good in this world is the man in his arms, and he only has three days left with him.

He has to trust that Overwatch has measures put in place to hide his identity. Truly hide it, otherwise, it’s a death sentence. They run a covert ops division, they know what to do. 

He has to trust them. 

He _has_ to.

But he isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. Bad news followed by awful news, pummeling him like waves in an unsettled ocean. But this? Ben’s days are numbered; the clan won’t stop. They’ll _never_ stop until he’s dead and it’s too much to bear. He feels like he’s being pulled underwater, and whenever he manages a breath, another wave crashes down on him. 

No. He won’t _let_ the clan go after Ben. He won’t accept that loss. He will brave this storm—he will recover, he will do Reyes’ bidding and he _will_ take down those fuckers who did this to him, starting with Hanzo.

He has to fight. He _will_ fight.

Sighing, Genji wipes his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his hospital gown. “Thank you for saving me.”

Ben looks down at him and smiles, and his world feels a little bit brighter then it did yesterday. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song: [Brave This Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1VzeHFY9pM&list=PLnBv9tkHpJEu4uVh3TI1JEkwv9fA7VpEP&index=1)


	3. Vengeance Falls

“You’re nearly there, Genji! Keep going.”

Through gritted teeth, Genji takes another step. The pain is excruciating, not only in his thighs as they adjust to life with prosthetics but his arm and hand as he holds onto the treadmill handle tight. 

His whirlwind round of surgeries ended just a short three weeks ago. Rehab started immediately, gentle leg exercises to start given the damage done; not just from the attack but combating muscle wastage sustained after so long confined to a bed. Weight-bearing quickly turned into walking, and while he is still shaky, he gets stronger every day. 

Soon enough he will be able to truly test the capabilities of these cybernetics.

Right now, the pain doesn’t matter. If anything, it fuels him. The sooner he adjusts to his cybernetics, the sooner he will be able to exact his vengeance to those who did this to him. It’s the same routine every session—in his mind he sees Hanzo, the elders, every single person in that compound who hurt him, who looked down their noses at him, who taunted and twisted and _abused_ him his entire life. He vows, solemnly promises himself that he will kill every last one of them. They will die by his hand, they will be at the mercy of his blade, and he will leave none alive.

He shifts his focus to the people his family tore from him: Ben, past partners, best friends, his father and mother. He will do it for them. He looks down at himself, at his replaced limbs and seethes with rage. In the attack, Hanzo burned him, turning his life black. He lost parts of himself, he lost Izumi, but as death pulled him close he fought. He might be mostly mechanical but there is enough of him left to fight back, to take that flame and burn everyone back.

He will make them pay for what they’ve done, starting with tearing Hanzo apart, limb from limb.

The treadmill beeps and slows, and Genji sucks in a breath, all but resting his entire weight onto the handrail. Someone approaches, standing in front of him, and Genji looks up at them, at Hanzo. His hair is messy, his clothes and face are splattered with blood, his eyes flicker blue. 

_Stopping now? After a few meagre steps? You were always so weak._

Genji closes his eyes but it’s in vain; he can still see Hanzo, smirking smugly as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Great work, Genji,” Angela says. Her voice cuts through the dark haze, brightening his world. She places a gentle hand on his back and it sends Hanzo retreating. He opens his eyes, looking up at Angela. “At this rate, you’ll be moving up to stairs by the end of the week.”

_Stairs?_ Hanzo scoffs a laugh as he approaches again, this time with his katana in his hand. _Look at you. You’re hideous with those_ machines _and_ wires _attached to you. You’re more pitiful now than you ever were._

Genji grips the handrail tight and stands up straight. “Again.”

“The session is over—”

“ _Again!_ ” Genji growls. He taps at the console but it doesn’t respond to his input. 

_Look at you. Acting like a child who had his favourite toy taken from him._

Frustration boiling over, Genji slams his fist down on the console. Fortunately he doesn’t crack the screen, and fortunately for the treadmill he sees Angela on the corner of his eye, her gaze is icy cold. It stops him from ripping the fucking console off. 

Balling his hands into fists, he tries to control his quick, shallow breaths. His eyes sting, tears threaten to spill, and he turns his head away.

_Tears now? Pathetic._

Genji exhales, stuttered, closing his eyes when tears spill down his cheeks. He doesn’t know why Hanzo is here, taunting him. Hasn’t he done enough? Wasn’t losing his life, his limbs, Izumi enough for Hanzo?

Inhaling slowly, he knows it’s just his own subconscious being a bastard. But still, why does it have to manifest in Hanzo's image? Why can’t it be his own voice in his head?

“I will allow one more session today,” Angela states. She’s cold, emotionless; he’s upset her. “Sixteen hundred hours, ten minutes only. _If_ you can keep your anger in check. Otherwise, we stop the treadmill and use parallel bars. At least if you destroy those, it'll be significantly cheaper.”

“I’m sorry,” Genji murmurs, wiping his eyes. 

_You're a fuck up. Always was, always will be._

“I understand your frustration,” Angela says, the gentleness in her voice has returned. “But if you continue to push yourself beyond what your body can tolerate then you will only do more harm than good. I will have to keep you confined to the medbay. We will have to return to basic exercises. You’ve improved so much in the last fortnight, I would hate for you to undo all of that hard work.”

“I know,” Genji replies, looking at her. She smiles, offering her hand. In front of her is his wheelchair. His prison. “I just wish I would improve _faster_.”

“You might look at yourself and see only cybernetics, but you’re still flesh and blood. You’re a _person_ , Genji, you still have limits.”

Genji doesn’t reply as he takes her hand and slowly eases himself down into the chair.

Angela appears in front of him, then, crouching down and looking at his thighs, at the seam where cybernetics and scarred, bumpy flesh meet. “The area is inflamed. I will check it again this afternoon before we start, but if you want _any_ hope of more exercise today, you must rest. _If_ I hear that you have been on your feet, I _will_ keep you in the medbay overnight.”

“Got it,” Genji replies. He smiles sweetly at her but as she narrows her eyes, Genji knows she's not buying it. “I will rest.”

“I’ll keep an eye on ‘im.”

Genji does his best not to react to McCree’s grating voice. The snitch is so far up Reyes’ ass it’s a miracle he can fucking breathe. Genji's been out of the hospital and on this base for only five days and can’t take a shit without McCree documenting it for Reyes’ sake. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

McCree chuckles, condescending. “Is it really babysitting if I intend to spend the rest of the afternoon in my bunk, catching up on my novel, which happens to be where _you’ll_ be spending _your_ afternoon?”

Having a _novel_ open doesn’t mean he’s reading it. It wouldn’t be a surprise honestly if McCree can’t read. Genji takes a deep breath, biting his tongue to keep from lashing out. He’s angry at the people who ruined his life, not at the people who are trying to help him.

Even _if_ one of those people is a loud, snarky motherfucker who reports his every word and movement to his boss.

Genji turns his attention to Angela. “I will rest, you have my word.”

When she nods, Genji leaves the gym. He resists the urge to wheel over McCree’s foot, instead, he gives in to his inner bitch and levels McCree the biggest glare he can muster. McCree looks down at him with a shit-eating grin on his face and Genji briefly entertains the idea of grabbing his shirt, pulling him down and socking him one, but if he does that he will lose his newly acquired freedom.

So he wheels past McCree without saying _or_ doing anything. He should be awarded for his fucking restraint.

He heads straight for the barracks, McCree follows far enough behind to keep his space, yet close enough that Genji can hear the jingle of those useless fucking spurs and the click of his heels on the concrete. Every single one of McCree's step pushes his anger into overdrive; it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t take those hideous boots and destroy them in the middle of the night.

Finally, they reach the tiny room they share, and McCree at the very least gives Genji the space to get settled. McCree doesn’t offer assistance as Genji struggles to move himself over from the chair to the bunk; not that Genji _would_ take his help if he offered. However, McCree _does_ take the chair and fold it up for him, keeping it within arm's reach. Genji tells himself that McCree is just being kind, and it's not some power move. He is beyond that life; these people are helping him.

As Genji massages his aching legs and McCree sits on his bunk, picking up his book and reading the blurb. It's convincing enough but Genji knows McCree is keeping one eye on him. The moment Genji lies down, McCree sits back and opens up his novel. 

They sit in silence. Genji doesn’t move, he doesn’t sleep as McCree slowly yet somehow _loudly_ turns the pages of his book. It is almost like a reminder every few minutes that McCree is here, watching from the corner of his eye.

McCree, whether or not he is playing a game with him, doesn't matter. All Genji does as he waits for sixteen-hundred hours to tick closer and closer is stare at the ceiling and imagine all of the absolutely bloody and horrific ways he can end Hanzo’s life. 

* * *

"Can you see Hanzo right now?"

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Genji's eyes shift to Hanzo sitting in the corner of the room. Dressed in a crisp black suit, the top three buttons of his lavender shirt are undone, his legs spread obscenely apart. Along with the hand poised casually under his chin, this is his classic 'on the prowl' move he pulls at clubs. Granted, it was less _searching_ and more _waiting_ for the first person who catches his eye to approach him.

Genji hated him for that. The eldest son of Shimada Sojiro was so renowned he didn't have lift a fucking finger to get his dick wet. 

As this silent, patronizing Hanzo stares back at him, Genji isn't sure if he is worse than blood-splattered and taunting Hanzo.

"Yes," Genji replies, giving his therapist Simone his full attention. 

"Is he saying anything?"

"No."

"How has he been since our last session?"

"Rude, taunting. Wishing for my failure."

"Why do you think that is?"

Genji shrugs. "Because he is a bastard who never once wanted me to succeed. He was always faster, stronger, better than me in every way."

"You chose to not harm him, though. That there is a sign of a better person."

"And look at where that left me: damaged, broken."

" _Stronger._ "

Genji inhales and exhales slowly. He doesn't retort, doesn't say anything, just stares at her. He's not stronger, he's _weaker_ now than he was this time four months ago.

Simone holds her stare for a moment, then writes something down on her tablet and sets it down on her lap. "How is life in the barracks?"

"Fine."

"Is Jesse still getting under your skin?"

"You mean my shadow?"

"I'll take that as a yes," Simone says sheepishly.

"I know he is just following orders, but everything about him makes me want to tear off his arm and beat him to death with it." Genji sucks in a breath when Simone frowns. "He is annoying, but I won't hurt him."

"He is… boisterous," she replies, chuckling lightly. She tucks a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her cheeks redden slightly. Genji keeps his amusement to himself—it seems Simone has a crush. "Between you and me, he used to be worse."

"Hard to imagine." 

Simone clears her throat, crossing one leg over the other. "How about your rehabilitation? I noticed you walked into my office today."

Genji smiles wryly, looking at the crutches resting against his chair. "Not without aid."

"Still on your feet, though. You're making good progress, Genji. I'm proud of you."

Genji’s world suddenly stops. _I’m proud of you_. Words he’s heard a thousand times but were never directed at him. Words that make him want to smile and sob and scream in jubilation all at once. 

“It’s nothing,” Genji says quietly, ducking his eyes away from Simone.

“More than that. And I’m not just talking about physically. Mentally—emotionally, you’re in a much better place than you were.” She picks up her tablet, swiping her finger across it. “I’m reading your journal entries. Not only is your anger decreasing, but the resentment of those around you is also. 'I stood outside for the first time since this happened, feeling the sunshine on my face, breathing in the crisp, mountain air and for the first time since that day, I felt alive.' Genji… this is _wonderful_.”

“Things are not as bleak as they once seemed.” Genji cannot help but smile. "Some days, at least. But now that I am gaining some semblance of freedom, I feel like I am working towards my goal of righting every single wrong. I can see—I can _feel_ the progress I am making and every day I am taking one step after another, moving closer to exacting my revenge.”

Simone picks up her tablet again, pen poised to write. “Do you think you would ever change your mind? About revenge?”

Genji scoffs. “Never.” His eyes drift to Hanzo in the corner, still sitting, looking bored out of his mind. “Why does Hanzo get to live when I don’t?”

“You _are_ alive, though.”

“Hardly.” Genji holds up his hands for Simone to see. He gives them nothing more than a quick glance. “I might be adapting to life with cybernetics but that doesn’t mean I’m _alive_. Without them, I _wouldn’t_ be. _They_ keep me alive. Not my body, not my own flesh and blood. I am weak.”

_Pathetic_ , Hanzo intones. 

“It’s not a weakness, Genji,” Simone says, scribbling on her tablet. “You live and breathe, every moment of every day. You might see yourself, the cybernetics as a weakness, but I see a survivor. A person who rose from the ashes of a brutal attack, stronger than before.”

Genji takes a breath and holds it. There’s that word again—stronger. He wants to argue, to tell Simone that she’ll never understand what he’s been through but honestly, his battle isn’t with her. He’s fully aware that she is responsible for clearing him for duty but fighting her _and_ these sessions with the same ferocity he wants to bring down Hanzo will only slow him down.

Simone _is_ right, though. He survived for a reason, and that singular reason is to put Hanzo and every single last Shimada clan member down. 

The only thing that is keeping him going is vengeance. And maybe one day, these cybernetics will work in his favour. He _will_ defeat Hanzo.

Genji stares Hanzo down. He won't rest, he won't _stop_ , not until Hanzo is dead and nothing but a bloody, unrecognisable corpse. Hanzo lifts his head, smirks dangerously, and disappears like smoke on the wind.

“I _will_ be stronger,” Genji says, eyeing Simone with newfound clarity. “I survived for a reason.”

“For vengeance?”

“Yes.”

“And after?”

Genji opens his mouth to reply, but can’t think of an answer. What happens _after?_ “I suppose I breathe. Keep working for Overwatch. Right wrongs.”

“Well there certainly are many of them,” Simone says. “But you deserve a chance at life, Genji. You deserve to do more than just breathe, you deserve to _live_. To settle down, to do your own thing.”

Genji scoffs a laugh. “Perhaps one day. But now, I cannot lose focus. First, I take down my old clan, then _perhaps_ , I can think about _living._ ”

Simone adjusts in her seat, she looks at him with warm eyes. "If I may ask again, what plans had you made _if_ you had been allowed to leave the clan?”

Closing his eyes, Genji tries to swallow the ball of sorrow clawing its way up his throat. This is the second time she's asked this, and all it does is dredge up those conversations he had in his mind, about how he would ask Ben to quit his job so they can run off together, travel the world, eat and drink and live normal lives with a dozen cats.

But now, knowing the truth of Ben’s Overwatch affiliations, that was a dream, not just tainted with blood, but now, bitter disappointment.

There is no point hoping for _good_ when all that does is turn into agonising heartache.

“I cannot…” Genji whispers, meeting Simone’s gaze. “I cannot hope for something, not again.”

Simone offers a gentle, caring smile. “Of course. One step at a time.” 

Genji merely nods. One step at a time.

* * *

It has taken several weeks being surrounded by happy people around him and dozens of therapy sessions, but Genji has fully grown to tolerate everyone around him.

Even McCree. Genji returned from one therapy session especially vulnerable—Simone asked about his childhood and if the resentment he experienced later in life had been there from the start, and Genji realised at that moment that it was _always_ there. Sure, he was raised by a strict code from birth but he still had freedoms, he still had the opportunity to be a kid, until one day he _couldn't_. He remembers coping with the pressure, he remembers resenting everything the clan did in his twenties and fighting back by splashing money and sleeping around, but that animosity, that rage that was bubbling under his skin was there, way back when he was a child and Hanzo was praised for everything he did and Genji got nothing.

He had been angry all of his life and the dawning realisation of it left raw at the end of that session. He went back to his room and McCree picked up that he was off, just from his body language, because Genji didn't utter a single word to him. McCree didn’t ask or probe about the session, he just spoke and for the first time, Genji didn’t hate him for it. He needed something else to focus on, to not get lost in his mind, so he listened to McCree's every word as he talked about his childhood, orphaned by the crisis, his wild teenage years spent with his ‘partner in crime’, and for a long while, things were golden. But it turned to shit when Overwatch crashed down on him and took him away. 

It was in that moment that Genji realised they had more in common than he thought—they are two people who each had their innocence stolen as children, who were torn from their lives kicking and screaming. 

McCree told him that he’s been here long enough that the white-hot rage he once felt is nothing more than a mere simmer, and that the easiest way to deal with that is to train. Genji, of course, told him he has been unable to train and McCree said that he hasn’t been able to either because he’s been on babysitting duty—something he _didn’t_ ask for—sitting idly by making sure Genji wasn’t going to turn on them, and that he would much rather be out there, _actually_ working.

Genji tried to offer an apology but McCree didn’t want it. All he wanted was for Genji to understand that they’re not the enemy, that they’re just trying to help him.

The very same words Genji had told himself were repeated back at him, and in the days that followed, everything felt _different_. McCree was no longer _stalking_ him, now walking beside him. It became easier to talk to him about benign shit like his strict diet and how truly terrifying Angela is when she’s angry. Living, _existing_ became tolerable. He found himself smiling. Feeling good, optimistic with his therapy and rehabilitation sessions.

Now, he’s at a stage where he can lightly jog five kilometres without it causing too much pain. He is ready for the next step, to start training, to go into the world for the first time in six months. The sooner he is on Reyes' team, the sooner he can get to Hanzo and close that chapter of his life.

As he walks the corridors of Overwatch’s headquarters with McCree by his side, Genji is hopeful that this meeting with Reyes is what this is all about; that Reyes will finally clear him for duty, that he can join the team and start _working_.

He walks past people in blue—people his age, younger than him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to go out and do good in this world. They don’t cast him more than a glance, which is somewhat relieving, but McCree says a passing _hello_ to nearly all of them. 

They stop briefly as McCree introduces him to a British woman called Lena Oxton. A Royal Airforce pilot, she’s looking to join Overwatch to test an experimental fighter jet. She’s young and way too excitable, and it makes him almost happy that he has been assigned to Blackwatch. It can be difficult dealing with McCree on the best of days, if he had to put up with her too, it would be too much.

Even though she announces that this is her third time in Overwatch headquarters, she and McCree talk like they are old friends. McCree is good with people, Genji is realising, they feel comfortable around him. He has that presence, Genji supposes—open and warm and inviting, a valuable asset for covert ops. It will be interesting to see McCree at work.

Once they wrap up their conversation, McCree leads the way—this is the first time Genji has been through the administration wing. They make their way past several offices, stopping in front of one that has a simple G. Reyes on the door. McCree knocks on the door, after hearing a _come in_ from the other side, he opens it.

Reyes looks up from his computer and waves them in. “Genji, come in. McCree, give us five.”

“A’ight.” McCree closes the door behind them.

“Genji, please, sit down.” Reyes clears his desk, moving a stack of papers and folders and at least ten different pens aside, leaving the space between them clear. “I’ve received a message from a mutual acquaintance,” he says, gaze shifting to his computer. “It’s for you.”

Ben?” Genji murmurs, and Reyes nods. 

Genji’s stomach flutters, the only word he’s gotten on Ben since he left was that he has been checking in on time. This… Genji swallows the lump in his throat. He’s wanted this for so long and didn’t want to get his hopes up that he would personally hear from him. 

“I’ve forwarded it to you. I apologise for the radio silence, we needed to make sure he was settled, that we didn’t move too fast in the off chance he’s being watched.”

A chasm of dread immediately opens in the pit of Genji’s stomach, aching familiar. He knows Ben’s check-in days, so he’s always apprehensive until he hears word. Communication is a risk, but he is sure Blackwatch have taken the necessary precautions to ensure he can communicate without tipping off the clan because they _will_ be monitoring emails and social media if they suspect they’ve found him.

“Will I be able to reply?”

“Yes. It’ll have to be encrypted first, but you can chat. Do keep in mind that there will be a delay, he’s been ordered to keep contact to a minimum.”

“I understand.”

Reyes sits back, leaning back in his seat as he crosses one leg over the other. “I hear from Simone that things are going well.”

Genji nods. “She has been instrumental in my recovery.”

“That’s excellent news. You’re making amazing progress; even McCree’s got only good things to say about you these days.”

Genji huffs a laugh; he wonders if McCree opening up to him was a mission, a means to get him talking so he can report back to Reyes. Not that it’s inherently a bad thing; especially if it was some kind of test, a hurdle to jump so Reyes is confident in his decision to have him join his team. At the very least, he doesn’t feel _betrayed_ by this development. A clear sign that he _is_ adjusting to this new life.

“I would recommend you keep up the sessions, though. We all talk to Simone from time to time.” Reyes smiles warmly. “In her latest report, she’s ready to clear you for active duty.”

“Then I can start training?”

“You can start now if you’d like. You’re getting around without assistance, and Angela thinks it’s time we upped your exercises. And if I’m being honest, I’m eager to see how you handle yourself.”

Genji cannot help but _beam_. _This_ is the news he needed. The progress he’s making towards his recovery, both mentally and physically, while painstaking, has been worth it. The blood, sweat, tears, anger, resentment, being left raw after therapy have _all_ been worth it.

His life has been on hold up until this moment. _Now_ he gets to live.

Genji draws his shoulders back. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“You’re welcome, son. I’m a man of my word, we’ll get you what you seek.” Then his face falls, he sits up, putting back on the air of a tough military commander. “But there has been a development.”

Genji frowns. “Development?”

Reyes nods. “McCree!” He keeps his eyes on McCree as he enters the room. “I’ve just told Genji that there’s been a development with his old clan.”

Gaze shifting to Genji for the barest of moments, McCree sits beside him.

Reyes places a folder down in front of Genji. Anxiety stabs him in the gut as he leans forward, opening it and eyeing the picture resting on top. At first glance, Genji suspects it’s his father, the man has short hair and has a goatee, but that doesn't make sense, his father is dead, cremated and resting beside his family. On closer inspection, Genji realises it’s Hanzo. But something is wrong; his eyes are dark, wild, he almost looks _scared._ He's dressed in jeans and a jacket, he's looking over his shoulder. He looks like he is running from _something_.

Not once in Genji's life has Hanzo been scared, and he absolutely has _never_ run away from something. The Hanzo in that picture isn’t the man he knew.

With shaky hands, he moves the picture aside and reads the report:

_Surveillance Report 11/12/2066. Shimada Hanzo abdicated the title of clan leader and has left the clan. The decision was made without the council's blessing, they saw it as an act of betrayal and sent an assassin after Shimada Hanzo. The assassin was unsuccessful._

_Current location: unknown. Last known location: Helsinki, Finland._

“No…” Genji places the file down on the table as the world starts to blur. He eyes Reyes but can’t make out his features.

Hanzo ran. 

Hanzo left the clan of his own volition.

“Genji?”

“No.”

Hanzo doesn’t get to run away from the clan like a fucking coward after what he did. Genji looks down at his hands, they come into focus. One flesh and blood riddled with scars and tubing, the other mechanical. He looks beyond his hands at his feet. Akira shifts listlessly under his skin, her loneliness, her sorrow at losing Izumi crashes into him like a wave.

“No…”

Hanzo didn’t need to inflict this damage to him. He could have left. _They_ could have left together, ran from the clan and its oppressive teachings and _lived_. But now, Genji’s stuck inside a body he doesn’t want while Hanzo is out there, living the life Genji _wanted_.

The life Genji _deserved_.

“Genji!”

Reyes' voice cuts through the haze, Genji’s chest seizes as he looks at Gabe. He can’t breathe, his heart feels like it’s ready to burst out of his ribcage. 

“Get Ziegler,” Gabe says, but his voice is slow, distorted. He watches as McCree moves in slow motion, several of his own afterimages chasing after him as he leaps out of the chair and heads towards the door.

“He can’t,” Genji whispers, scrunching the report in his hand. “He _can’t_.”

“It’s going to be okay, son,” Reyes says, astoundingly close, like a whisper in his ear. He feels the pressure of firm hands on him, holding him tight. 

Genji feels like been thrown underwater and weighed down. Everything goes dark; he can’t take in air, he can’t see.

“We’ll get him. He won’t be allowed to run. We won’t do anything, we’ll just catch him. He’s yours to do with whatever you like.”

“It’s not enough.”

“We’ll take down the clan. That goal hasn’t shifted. You’ll take them down. You’ll take your brother down.”

“Why does he get to live?”

“Genji?!” Angela’s voice cuts through the static, she appears out of the darkness. She looks at him, fraught with concern. “You’ll be okay.”

“He _ran away_.”

“I know,” Angela replies. “Deep breaths now, in and out.”

“Can’t...” Everything fades into black again and in the darkness, he sees Hanzo, with his cut hair and beard and looking smug as fuck, standing over him. Genji's ears ring, bordering on painful. “No!” Genji tries to lunge at Hanzo with everything he’s got but he’s weighed down. He fights, manages to get an arm free, swinging it at Hanzo. He makes contact, clocking him in the jaw. Hanzo staggers backwards but recovers quickly, smirking dangerously as he wipes the blood on his lip with the back of his hand.

“Do something!” Gabe growls, cutting through the ringing in his ears.

“I have to sedate you,” Angela says. “I’m sorry, Genji.”

It takes Genji a moment to register the statement, and when he does, he tries to fight again, to reach out and grab Hanzo by the shirt, to pull him down and beat him to a bloody pulp but he can’t, something is holding him back. “No!” 

Then, his limbs feel heavy and cold, like he is being buried in concrete. He tries to move but he can't, and Hanzo slowly fades into black.

Genji can't move, he can't see. But all he can hear is Hanzo’s wicked laughter, echoing into infinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song:[Vengeance Falls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWaye_eG1e8&list=OLAK5uy_n-bG4kt0VbJrcMaIxclkCSgGvh-sm0oss&index=2)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) and [PillowFort!](https://www.pillowfort.social/ChillieBean) Come say hi!


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